No One Needs to Know

by Amanda Grace

  “How have you kept this from her?”

  He zips his hoodie all the way to his chin, hunching into it. “Sometimes I go directly to the docks from my friends’ houses. Sometimes I sneak out after she’s in bed, or when she’s working on homework.”

  “You should talk to her,” I say. “She doesn’t like that you’re pulling away. She’s scared.”

  “It’s a weird thing, you know,” Liam says, just as the boat finally arrives, bouncing off the black-rubber sides of the ferry dock.

  “What?”

  “Pushing her to be her own person … and still wanting her to be there when I need her.”

  I smile, willing myself not to tear up from his words, knowing how much Olivia needs him, too. “I think you should tell her that,” I say, just as the door behind us swings open and Carolyn walks onto the foredeck.

  Liam sighs, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

  Olivia

  “I can’t believe you even have all this crap,” Zoey says, standing in the middle of a pile of junk, her hands on her hips. “How does one family accumulate all this stuff?”

  I chew on my lip and survey the piles of boxes I promised my dad I’d get rid of. I don’t even know why I’m doing this today—my parents probably won’t show up for another few weeks.

  I sigh. “It just looks like a lot when it’s all stuffed into one room. We haven’t touched it since we moved here.”

  Zoey snorts and then slaps a hand over her mouth, and I try not to laugh at the ugly sound. “Wait—you haven’t always lived here?” she asks.

  “Nope. Mom thought we should downsize.”

  “And … how is your monstrous condo a downsize?”

  I click the lid back on a giant Tupperware container that, as it turns out, is filled with my mom’s hand-me-down “antique” quilts. She’ll have to sort through that one herself. “Have you ever seen that big purple Victorian up on Yakima street, in old town? Like a super monstrous one?”

  Zoey narrows her eyes. “The one with the white shutters and a dinosaur sculpture in the middle of circular drive? With gargoyles or something near the sidewalk?”

  “Yeah. The big sculpture is a horse, actually. It’s just really old. But anyway, that’s where I grew up.”

  “Holy shit,” Zoey says. “That house is insane.”

  I giggle. “Yeah. It was beautiful. And creepy at night, but also amazing.”

  “Why’d you move?”

  I screw my lips up to the side. “My parents were taking more and more trips. I guess they were worried about us in such a big house, or maybe they figured it was overkill. The condo’s more secure and requires no maintenance.”

  “Ah.”

  I trace my finger over the red Sharpie words written on the next box, which spell out China. “The move was sort of the beginning of the end, as far as our family time went. Liam and I were sixteen and had our own transportation, and they knew we were safe in the condo. Heck, we don’t even have to leave the complex to go out to dinner or to the movies.”

  “I see,” she says.

  “But it feels like a shelf to me.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve always felt like they bought the condo because it’s a kind of shelf. They can put us up on the shelf and then go do whatever they want, and whenever they breeze back into town, they’ll take us off the shelf and ask us how we are, and drag us to a couple of parties or events to show what great parents they are, and then when the week is up, they can put us back on the shelf again.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sorry. That’s probably enough whining for the day. In any case, the move is what led to this heaping pile of junk.”

  Zoey spins in a slow circle, as if taking it all in.

  “Aren’t you glad you showed up?” I ask.

  She grins, grabbing a faded orange Nerf football from a nearby wire crate and hurling it at me.

  I barely have time to react before it bounces off my shoulder. “HEY! So uncalled for.”

  “Oh come on, you owe me at least that much,” Zoey says. “I was lured here under false pretenses.”

  “I said I needed your help!”

  She flashes me an oh please look. “I figured it was Olivia style help. Like picking out the right shoes to match your outfit. And, by the way, wrong choice.”

  I gasp, picking up the football and tossing it back at her. “Not nice!”

  Zoey catches it, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m only kidding. You actually look pretty great. But seriously, if I had known I’d be sorting through approximately one thousand pounds of stuff, maybe I would’ve pretended to be busy.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say, grinning. I can’t really blame her. This place is crammed.

  I open one of the boxes near her, revealing a pile of Legos. “I forgot all about these. Liam was obsessed forever. His whole room was covered in Lego creations and he refused to disassemble anything.”

  “Really? What did he like building?”

  “Totally nerdy stuff. He had this serious Star Wars thing forever. His whole room was decked out. The Legos were mostly spaceships or whatever.”

  She giggles. “And here I thought he was super alternative,” she says, making air quotes.

  “Please. He couldn’t buy street cred. The whole skater dude thing only happened in the last couple of years. Even now he’s like half jock, half skater. I guess he’s still figuring it out.”

  I open another box, pulling out a frilly, white, lace-trimmed dress. It’s weird seeing all this stuff. It makes me want to dig into one after another after another and get lost in the memories.

  I want to share them all with Zoey.

  “And how about you?”

  “I’ve always been … this,” I say, holding the dress up. I tuck the hanger under my chin and drape the dress against my chest. “Girly girl. My mom modeled a little when she was a teen. I always thought her pictures were the epitome of glam. She didn’t want me to get into it, though. Not officially. So she’d let me dress up and wear makeup and we’d take a bunch of snapshots and then print them out and staple them together like they were little portfolios.”

  Zoey grins. “Your mom sounds cool.”

  “She is. Was. I don’t know anymore. I mean, we used to be close. She’d pretend to be a designer who was auditioning models, and I’d dress up and use my fake portfolio and do my runway walk, and she’d be like fabulous, darling!” I say, throwing my arm up into the air like my mom does when she gets animated.

  Zoey’s smile melts away and she studies me with an intensity that’s just this side of disconcerting. “Do you miss her?”

  I shrug. “Liam and I spent a month in Europe with them over the summer. By the end I was happy to have my space again. But sometimes, yeah.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Zoey sticks her thumb out to the side, as if she’s concentrating, and makes a fake picture frame with her fingers and thumbs as if she’s trying to imagine a camera shot.

  I roll my eyes and throw the dress at her. It clobbers her over the head.

  “Hey!”

  I reach into the box and find another dress, this one pink, and throw it at her just as she’s peeling the first one off her head.

  And then I throw another and another, until the box is empty and she looks like a coatrack. The stack of dresses trembles as she laughs. “This is what I get for helping!” she says, but her voice is muffled underneath all the layers.

  I laugh, too, walking closer and pulling the top dress off the pile. The others kind of drag away with it and drop to the ground. Her hair is all raked forward, almost entirely covering her face.

  I reach out, pushing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear.

  Zoey stills, meeting my eyes.

  I don’t know who moves first, or if we’re pulle
d together by force—this undeniable attraction we have for each other—but soon my mouth meets hers and I close my eyes, enjoying the taste of her on my lips.

  It’s right. When we kiss, it’s always right.

  Something creaks beside me, and I realize a heartbeat later that it’s the door to the storage room. I leap back so fast my heels hit a box behind me and then I fall, crashing into a pile of boxes that were stacked waist-high.

  I land in a heap, the other stuff falling around me, until only my arms and head are left uncovered.

  “Nice one, sis,” Liam says as the dust settles. “Very graceful.”

  I can see by his flippant, amused grin that he didn’t see Zoey and me.

  Whew.

  I swallow. “Thanks,” I say, struggling to get back to my feet. I feel like I fell butt-first into a hole. “So, are you just going to just stand there, or … ?”

  He steps forward and extends his hand, pulling me easily to my feet.

  I lean over, wondering how it is he hasn’t noticed or acknowledged Zoey, but all I see is the door, swung wide enough that it’s just shy of hitting the wall.

  Oh. She’s behind the door.

  She’s hiding.

  From her own boyfriend. Because she’s here, with me, and we didn’t tell him that part.

  “Did you need something?” I ask, dusting off the seat of my pants.

  “Nah. Saw your text about cleaning out the storage unit and I thought I’d see if you needed any help.”

  “Seriously?” I ask before I can stop myself. Why the hell is he volunteering for manual labor?

  “Yeah. You shouldn’t have to do it yourself. Plus, you know, we haven’t hung out much lately.”

  “Oh.” I flick a glance at the door. Zoey’s leaning over just enough that I can see her eyes, and she slowly shakes her head, confirming what I already know—she doesn’t want to be seen. “Um, no thanks,” I say. “Actually, I was going to listen to my iPod.” I tap my back pocket. Even though it’s not actually there.

  “Dude, for real? You’re going to clean this whole place yourself?”

  I nod, my eyes wide and hopefully sincere. “Yep. I could use the exercise.”

  Liam chokes back laughter. “All right then. Suit yourself.”

  “Yep. I will.”

  I will suit myself? What does that even mean?

  I stand in the middle of the room as he walks away, pausing to reach over and grab the doorknob. He glances at me over his shoulder as clicks the door shut behind him.

  Revealing Zoey.

  “Holy shit, that was close,” she says.

  “Why’d you hide behind the door?” I whisper. “I could have played it off! We’re allowed to be friends. But then you’re all cowering behind a door, and if you popped up five minutes later, that looks suspicious.”

  “I don’t know! It kind of swung over and covered me up, and I just went with it!”

  We dissolve into giggles, and I flop down on top of one of the collapsed boxes. “If you hadn’t hidden, we could’ve had help.”

  “And now we’re stuck in here all by ourselves. For …

  hours … ” she says, her voice trailing off mischievously as she grabs a box, slides it up next to me, and plops down.

  I turn my head to meet her eyes and our noses almost brush.

  And then we kiss, and I think perhaps this room will get cleaned out another day.

  Zoey

  “So … why are we here again?” I ask as I plop down on the old wooden park bench.

  “It’s a surprise,” Olivia says, twisting around to face me, pulling one knee up on the bench.

  We’re in the middle of Wright Park on a Sunday morning and I’m not sure why.

  “If I’d known we were coming here I would have invited Carolyn,” I say. “I’m pretty sure she’d live here if she could.”

  “We’re not staying.” Olivia digs into her enormous handbag and pulls out a Cosmo magazine.

  “Uh, we came here to read magazines? Because, you know, I didn’t bring one.”

  “No. I just needed someplace to sit for a minute, and my brother is home so I didn’t want to go there.”

  “Okaaaaaay,” I say, reaching over to rip a leaf off a nearby rhododendron. “So are you going to read me some makeup tips or something? Because, you know, that’s not really my idea of a good time.”

  “No, silly. I have this for the quiz on page forty.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “People actually do those things? I always thought they were stupid.”

  “Shush,” Olivia says, pulling a pen out of her bag. “You’re just going to have to go along with this.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “Good. Favorite Restaurant?”

  “Uhhh … Olive Garden.” I rip the rhododendron leaf in half, letting the pieces flutter to the ground.

  She kind of snarls her lip. “If you could go anywhere, you’d seriously pick the freaking Olive Garden?”

  “What?” I ask, surprised by her reaction. “I like the breadsticks.”

  “You’re really lame.”

  “Well, if we’re really talking anywhere, I actually like Jimmy Macs more. Does that make you feel better?”

  “What’s Jimmy Macs?”

  “A barbecue place in Federal Way. You can throw peanut shells on the ground. I’ve only been there once, but it was fun.”

  “Okay then, I’m putting that one down. It sounds better than Olive Garden.”

  I laugh and reach out, pinching her knee. Olivia leans away, half-closing the magazine. “No peeking.”

  “Wasn’t trying to.”

  She sits up and clears her throat. “Okay. Now, describe your dream outfit.”

  I try not to laugh. “Um, nice jeans and a funny T-shirt, I guess. Definitely not a skirt. I get my fill at Annie Wright.”

  “Of course. And what about shoes or accessories?”

  “Oh. Um, Converse. I want a pair of those Dr. Seuss ones. And some kind of chunky jewelry, I guess.”

  “All right. Next question: favorite local attraction?”

  I stare at the ground for a long moment, trying to decide. “The Pantages?”

  She looks up from her magazine, her surprise evident. “You mean the theater?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve been in there?”

  I laugh. “What, I don’t look like the theater type? We went to that play freshman year, remember? During school hours? I really liked the building. It’s cool, with all the little balconies and carved woodwork and stuff.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She scribbles it down, her pen scratching across the page. “Okay, if you could do one thing you’ve never done before, what would it be?”

  “Graffiti,” I reply. “What kind of quiz is this? I thought they were always multiple choice.”

  She ignores my question. “Of all things, graffiti? Seriously? I thought you’d say sky-diving or swimming with sharks or something more exotic.”

  I shrug. “I walk by the Garage sometimes and it always looks fun.”

  “Is that the parking garage place where everyone paints? Down on Broadway?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh. Okay.” Olivia scribbles it down, but as she’s writing, the magazine slips a little, revealing a lined sheet of paper.

  “You’re not even writing in the magazine, are you? I knew this was a weird quiz.”

  I reach for the magazine but she yanks it away. “That’s okay. I’m done,” she says, stuffing the Cosmo back into her bag and holding up the paper, revealing my list of answers in her perfect, swirly writing.

  “What’s that?” Even though I know my own answers, I still reach out and grab it, my eyes glancing over the sheet as if it’ll explain what she’s up to.

  “Our itinerary.”

 
“Huh?”

  “First we’re going to the mall, and you’re going to get your dream outfit. Then we’ll go to Jimmy Macs for lunch, followed by … something at the Pantages. I don’t even know if they have any shows or whatever today. But after that, it’s graffiti time.”

  My jaw drops. “You tricked me into telling you what I wanted to do? Why?”

  Olivia beams. “Because if I was all hey, let’s do everything you want to do, you’d be lame and pick things you thought I’d want to do. And you wouldn’t let me buy you any clothes.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You don’t need to buy—”

  “HEY! You’re going along with this plan whether you like it or not,” Olivia says.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re always worried about everyone else and not yourself. Today is about you. Accept this or I’ll punch you in the nose.” She stands up.

  I smirk. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

  She mutters something under her breath, then extends her hand. “Come on, the mall should be open by now.”

  It takes me a minute to move, because I’m can’t stop staring at her with a mixture of surprise and awe.

  No one’s ever done something this nice for me. Ever.

  “Okay. Fine. Let’s do it.”

  “Great. Your dream day starts now.”

  Olivia

  I shove open the double doors of the Pantages theater, blinking against the bright sunlight.

  “That was amazing,” Zoey says, breathless. “I can’t even believe how graceful those women are. Or how flexible.”

  “I’m surprised you were so into it,” I say, leading her down the sidewalk.

  “Why, do I not look like the ballet type?” she says, motioning to her body with a wide grin. She’s wearing a pair of snug, deep blue jeans, a belt made from an old seat belt, and a bright yellow T-shirt sporting a green dinosaur with a speech bubble that says all my friends are dead. Her requisite “chunky jewelry” consists of a blue bracelet with giant blocky beads.

  We couldn’t find the Dr. Seuss Chuck Taylors she was after, so she settled for a pair of tan camo ones. And now I know what I can get her for Christmas or her birthday or something.